


for the loVe of god

by Dont_touch_my_trash



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bill Denbrough Being an Idiot, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, Losers Club (IT) splits up, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Richie Tozier joins Bower's gang, This fic is kinda juvenile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23256154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_touch_my_trash/pseuds/Dont_touch_my_trash
Summary: I suck at summaries but basically this is after the first pennywise fight and Richie gets got instead of Bev because I'm a slut for reddie.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 14





	for the loVe of god

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! this is my first fic on here. I've had the idea floataing in my head for a while (although this has probably deffinetly been done before) and i finally put pen to paper. Well, finger to keyboard. anyways, hope y'all enjoy!

Bill was a fucking asshole. Everything he’d said had been bullshit. That house had been bullshit. The clown was bullshit. Everything was bullshit. His nose hurt a lot. So did his chest. And everything else. For someone who biked so much, Richie really was out of shape. And biking now didn’t help. Luckily his house was close to Neibolt street. Or maybe that wasn’t lucky. He didn’t want to live so close to a crazy murder clown. Stupid Bill would have to bike all the way back to his house on the nicer side of town. That felt like some kind of justice to Richie. Bill was probably just as sore as him, and would either have to bike or walk and lug his bike along beside him. Justice. Sure. That’s what Rich would call it. And Bill would be alone. He would be scared and alone. He’d be looking over his shoulder and jumping at every sound. Like Richie was right now. Yeah, justice. Bill was just as scared and alone as he was. 

The anger had subsided and now all that was left was fatigue. Everything felt so heavy, it was a struggle to bike, even on the flat road. And Richie felt guilty. Guilty for the things He’d said about Bill’s brother. Bill had been acting like an asshole, but it wasn’t his fault his brother was gone. But it wasn’t the Loser’s responsibility to save the shitty town they all lived in. who cares if a couple kids went missing. They wouldn't have to suffer through what a terrible world it was. 

_You definitely don’t sound like a phyco, you phyco._

Richie left his bike in the driveway, letting it fall, and went inside. It was warm, and he realized how cold it had been in the Neilbolt house. His arms had goosebumps all over them. He rubbed them away as he hurried up the stairs. Mom was asleep in the living room. It wasn’t unusual for her to be sleeping by noon. Not that it mattered. She probably wouldn’t bother Richie anyways. Good. he wanted to be alone right then. 

The upstairs bathroom was messy. Brushes and hair products were strewn across the counter. The paint on the sink was worn away in places, just like in the bathtub and the toilet. There was dust in the corners, and the wallpaper was peeling around the edges. It was an old house. Things creaked and broke sometimes. Richie didn’t mind, it kept out rain and wind, and he had his room, which he made his own. But it felt more like some building he slept in rather than a home. Not that it mattered anyways. He spent most of his time out of the house. Usually at the barrens or the arcade. Although, he had stopped going to the arcade so much after Eddie had freaked out from the noise and the germs. And after that thing that had happened which he refused to think about.

He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked terrible. Black locks fell over his face limply. There were purple bags under his eye that made him look years older than he was. Dirt was smeared on his cheeks and down his neck, and a sheen of sweat covered everything. He felt gross and grimy. Prodding at his nose, he winced. It definitely wasn’t broken, but it was sore, and there was a tiny bit of blood in a ring around the nostril. It wasn’t _bleeding_ bleeding, which was good. Better than if stupid stuttering Bill had broken his nose. Lucky for Bill, Richie’s nose was in almost perfect condition.

He needed a shower.

Richie turned on the faucet for the shower, and closed the curtain. He stripped off his dirt-covered clothing and left them on a ball on the floor. He hopped in the shower as it was warming up, and started scrubbing off all that dirt. 

The rest of summer was going to be lonely without the Losers. The only person Richie was on good terms with was Eddie, but his mom would probably lock him up. Pull him out of school and move to nowhere-Montana. Stan had been on Richie’s side during the fight, but Stan would probably make up with Bill and Bev and Ben, and then he would be alone. He was far more stubborn than Stan and would never apologize first. Also, Stan was closer to Bill than Richie was. They would miss each other more. School would be lame without friends. They were kinda the only reason he even went. Maybe he’d spend the rest of the summer at the arcade, beating my high score in Streetfighter. And at school, he could hang out more with the theater kids. He had always been kind of a drifter until this summer, when all this crazy shit happened. It was hard to connect with anyone else after you’ve been through something like that. But Richie was good at talking. It was easy to make conversation. And conversation led to friends. Friends led to not being bored out of my mind. He had made friends with Beverly, Ben, and Mike easily enough when they’d joined the Losers club. Friends were easy. He just needed people to keep busy with until his eighteenth birthday, then he could move away to Los Angeles like he always wanted to. LA would keep him busy. LA would be easy. 

Maybe Richie could sneak in through Eddie’s window. He’d done it before, and it wasn’t that hard. It was just a matter of climbing up onto the trash bins, and hoisting himself up through the window. When Richie had done it before, he’d gotten his Juliet’s attention by throwing pebbles at the window. Richie hadn’t realized Eddie had opened the window until the rock had left his hand and all Richie could do was watch it hit Eddie square in the nose. He could do that again. Unless Ed’s mom had put bars on the window. That was a very real possibility. Eddie said that she’d come close to doing it before, after the rock war. Richie could probably squeeze through the bars though. Or climb down the chimney like Santa Clause.

_Don't get in over your head, Chris Kringle._

Bill had probably called Eddie and told him “how much of an asshole Richie was”, and Eddie would never want to talk to Richie again. He could live without Bill and Bev and all the others. But Eddie was a different story. Eddie knew almost everything about him. They had known each other the longest out of all the Losers. Friends since kindergarten. Whenever Eddie didn’t know how to deal with his mother, he’d come over to Richie’s house and scream into a pillow. Richie would sit there and watch and laugh because Eddie looked so innocent when he was angry. So...open. Sometimes Eds would lay down on his back while Richie read from that semester’s book assigned in English class. Richie had decorated the ceiling with those little plastic glow-in-the-dark stars so Eds had something to look at. Eddie had said he thought they were cute. Richie would go to Eddie’s house when his dad was stressed from work, or his mom was too wobbly. They would make a blanket fort and watch movies as late as Sonia would let them. They were each other’s outlets, and losing that might just send him over the edge. 

Over what edge. Everything was bullshit and nothing mattered. They would all grow up, move away, and only vaguely remember each other. So why even try. It’s not like other people’s opinions would affect Richie’s ability to survive in the adult world. That was bullshit too. The “Adult World” was just a bunch of people over eighteen pretending like they knew what they were doing with their life. Maybe going over the edge wouldn’t be so bad. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about pleasing anyone.

Richie’s fingers had gone all pruney and the hot water had run out. He turned off the water and hopped out, grabbing a towel from under the sink. The mirror was all fogger up. Richie swiped it with his hands and saw his frowning, tired reflection. Water dripped into his eyes. Richie left the bathroom, and went into his room. Those little stars glowed in the darkness until Richie flipped on the lights. God, what a mess. There was barely an inch of visible floor. It was covered in dirty clothes, comic books, pens, pencils, and other various things he’d been too lazy to put away. However, Richie managed to get to his dresser, stepping like he was playing twister. The top of the dresser was also cluttered with random nick nacks. Taking out a t-shirt and shorts, Richie got dressed, then headed down to the kitchen. He was tired, and really hungry. The kitchen was usually not absolutely full, but there should be enough for a PB & J. Nothing like a good PB & J after fighting a crazy clown who lives in a well and getting punched in the face. 

_Stop joking about it. One of you could’ve died._

He could only dream.

The jelly was not his favorite flavor–peach–and the peanut butter jar was almost empty. Richie had to scrape the sides to get enough for a decent sandwich. But it was a good sandwich once he sat down at the kitchen table and ate. More like inhaled. It was gone within minutes. If only I had enough peanut butter for another sandwich. Maybe a Just Jelly sandwich would be good. I stood, aiming to test that theory, and turn to see Mom standing in the doorway. She was leaning against the frame. Her eyes were tired and wandering. Her hair, the same black color as his, was hanging limply around her face. She was beautiful, Richie realized, when she didn’t look half dead.

After a moment she said, “What happened to your face?” and pointed to Richie’s nose.

“I fell,” I picked up my plate and dumped it in the sink. It clattered, loud and painful. Mom closed her eyes, as if that would help get rid of the noise. She sighed and opened them again, frowning now. 

Her eyes roved from Richie, to the sink, and back to him, “Make sure to wash that,” was all she said before she turned and trudged up the stairs.

_Wow, not even your Mother cares that you got hit in the face. That edge is looking pretty good right about now._

Richie leaned back, against the sink. He closed his eyes, holding his breath. Nothing was ever normal with his mom. He wished he could go see Eddie. Eddie would know what to say to make Richie feel better. Better about his mom, about stupid stuttering Bill, about everything. He let that breath go, opening his eyes and looking around. The sun was close to setting. He needed some fresh air. Yeah. Yeah, some fresh Derry, Maine air would help clear his head.

Richie, ignoring the plate his mom had told him to wash, went out through the front door. Noone came to stop him. He walked out into that clean American air and took a deep breath. Leaving the door open, he picked up his bike and got on. Richie started riding. 

_Where are you even going?_

Hell, for all he cared. 


End file.
